Despair and Persistence

The night air chill blew at Kain’s skin as he stepped into the courtyard. The moon hung high above, casting shadows across the training ground. Rows of practice dummies stood silent, snow slowly covering them. Racks of weapons lined the wall such as spears, swords, axes, bows, shields, and another assortment of weapons. The tools of a legacy that had never truly belonged to him.

His breath misted in the air as he walked to the center of the yard.

‘So this is where it starts.’

He reached for what felt most familiar, a spear resting on the rack, polished but worn from years of drills. His fingers closed around the smooth shaft, and for a moment, it felt familiar.

He set his stance the way he remembered from seeing Kain’s memories with the left foot forward, tip angled low, posture straight. The first few strikes, thrust, and swipes came easy enough. After a few minutes of repeating the same attacks, the weapon’s weight was weighing him down. The strikes became slow and it felt awkward.

‘Too stiff and too slow. The rhythm’s off and maybe slightly tired from swinging it around, but the lack of fluidity is concerning.’

Kain paused and sighed as he let himself rest for a minute.

‘Damn, I really have no talent using a spear. How ironic...born in a family of known for their spearmanship and cannot even do use it. Or maybe, Kain is not meant to be a warrior...scholar maybe?’

He closed his eyes and tighten his grip on the spear.

‘No….I am not smart enough nor do I have the capacity to use words to dodge death. I need to find a way to get stronger. Lets try this again.’

He swung again, trying to recall the techniques he read about like the piercing flurry of the Valemont line, the “Shattering Pulse” that he saw Eira perform earlier in the day. But the movements were sluggish, empty of the flow she had portrayed.

His hands blistered before the hour was done. The callouses that should’ve been there weren’t. The weapon slipped when sweat met snow.

He lowered the spear, chest rising and falling.

“So that’s it, huh? The great Valemont heir...can’t even hit a dummy properly. Fuck!”

The laugh that escaped him was hollow, bitter, but real. He sank onto the frozen ground, rubbing his aching palms. Every swing had felt like a reminder, this body wasn’t trained, and neither was he.

‘If I can’t use a spear… then I’ll use something else.’

He stood, ignoring the sting in his fingers, and turned to the weapon racks. The choices stared back at him. Each with a different need and strength to use. Each with cold steel and sharp wood and each promising a different kind of death.

He tried an axe first. Its weight nearly tore his shoulder when he swung. It was powerful, yes, but unbalanced and like holding a storm by its handle. The second strike went wide enough to spin him off his footing. He dropped the axe.

“Shit...this doesn’t feel right”

The bow was next. It felt elegant, light, precise, but until he realized how slow it was to draw, how awkward the reload felt without strength or callouses. He managed to fire a single arrow. It wobbled and fell short of the target. He stared at the weapon, exhaled, and moved on.

Then he saw it, a long sword, gleaming faintly in the moonlight. When he lifted it, the balance was perfect, but the weight dragged at his arm. His muscles trembled before he even struck. It wasn’t lack of will, but it was weakness, pure and simple.

He replaced it and reached for a smaller blade beside it a short sword, slightly curved, similar to a wakizashi as it measured 37 cm in length. When he lifted it, it felt manageable. The grip fit his hand and the balance was natural. Light enough to move freely, but solid enough to defend with.

He tested a few swings with slashes, thrust, and even threw it at the dummy. The sound of the air being cut was satisfying to hear. For the first time that night, his movements did not feel forced and the blade danced where the spear had stumbled.

The more time Kain spent with the short blade, the more comfortable it felt. As he parried the air with an imaginary opponent, his wrist turned inward with a twist that felt instinctive that reversed the grip. The short blade pointed backward now, its edge gleaming along his forearm. The stance felt different, but right.

Kain froze. Then tried again with slashing upward, pivoting, the reverse grip leading every motion like an extension of thought. The strikes weren’t proper by anyone standards, look almost chaotic and lack flow, but they were his.

‘Hmm...seems like this body has some talent with blades...intuition maybe. Yes, I can do something with this.’

He found a rhythm. Each step, slash, turn, counter, and throw. The straw dummy throttled as the blade found its mark in it’s head. He started to breathe heavily, each breathe more labored than the last, but there was a smile on his face. The ache in his arms returned, sharp and persistent, but he didn’t stop. Pain meant movement. Movement meant he was still alive. But he started to think about the weapon itself.

The motion was quick, instinctive, flexible, but the strikes lacked reach. Each lunge fell short of the target unless he stepped dangerously close. He knows against a longer weapon such as a spear, he be dead before he landed a hit.
 

Kain frowned before looking back at the weapons on the table.
 

“Good for defense or surprise attacks or possibly works well in tangent with another weapon. Its bad for distance unless I throw it, which would mean I would be out of a weapon. Flexibility without the range.”
 

He walked towards the table and picked up the long sword. It was heavier than before due to how tired he was. But its range and power balance the short blade’s weakness. He gripped it in both hands to meet the strength requirement need to swing it. He practice swinging, slashing, and thrusting for a couple of minutes before he felt the strain run through his shoulders to his wrist. His hands had started bleeding from the intense training he was doing and the cold did nothing to help, but it started to numb the pain slightly.

Kain exhaled and drop the sword.

“This one...I’ll need to earn”

He retrieved the short blade and pick up the long sword before glancing at both.
 

‘A pair then with a future goal. The long sword is too heavy for me to wield at the moment with using both hands. My body cannot manage it otherwise. But one day, I will be able to...maybe after I awaken. I will be able to wield both allowing me to switch between them for defense and offense to strike in tandem.’
 

Kain sat down on the ground to catch his breath and began to wonder the next steps to take.

‘I will need to get into the academy, how if I am exiled? I will need a disguise as I will not be able to attend as Kain Valemont. Shit...think of something, you read so much of the story. There must be something useful to help me hide and maintain a disguise. A wig won’t be enough to hide myself. These eyes and this face will draw so much attention. Furthermore, Kain is a well known scoundrel who already made waves in noble society for being weak, spoiled, and the stain on the Valemont name.’

Thirty minutes had passed before Kain got up.
 

‘Those plans can come later. Right now, I need to focus. Take this one step at a time.’

Kain gripped the long sword with two hands and proceeded to practice downward swings.

‘Lets do 100 downwards swings, followed by 100 upward swings, 100 thrust, 100 horizontal swings.’

He proceeds to do 50 downward swings and noticed had difficult it was becoming to continue.

“Fuck I am weak.”

The coat clung to him, soaked with sweat, and heavy. Kain takes off his coat and shirt as the sweat had made it stick to his skin and it was irritating to continue to wear it. The cold air washed over his fair skin slick with sweat, unmarked skin. There was not a single scar, not even the hint of muscle tone, which shows how little to no training Kain has done before.

‘Lets revise the training to 50 of each as I think I’ll die trying to push myself to do anymore.’

Time passed by and the sun started to rise. He swung until breathing felt difficult, until his arms no longer listen. When at last he dropped to one knee, the long sword’s tip resting in the snow, the light of dawn had begun to seep over the horizon.

Kain looked down at his shaking hands, bruised, raw, bleeding, numb, but it shows persistence.

‘No talent, blessing, or system.’

A thin smile crossed his lips.

“Fine then I’ll carve my own way.”
 

He tries to stand, but wobbles as his legs felt weak.
 

‘Oh shit, I am too tired. This is what I get for trying to do too much the first night.’

Kain falls backwards onto the ground and passes out. His chest rose and fell glisten with sweat and his hands raw from bleeding, but his face show was calm. For the first time since waking up in this world, he looked at ease.